_CHIPPEWYAN TO BLACK LAKE._
Fort Chippewyan is an old and important trading-post of the Hudson’s
Bay Company. Before many of our Canadian and American cities came into
existence, Chippewyan was a noted fur-trading centre. From here—or rather
from a former site of the post, a few miles distant—Alexander Mackenzie
(afterwards Sir Alexander) started, in 1789, on his famous journey down
the great river which now bears his name. About the beginning of the
present century the post was moved to the position it now occupies on the
rocky northern shore of the west end of the Lake.
The Fort consists of a long row of eighteen or twenty detached log
buildings, chiefly servants’ houses, connected by a high strong wooden
fence or wall, so as to present an unbroken front to the water, behind
which, in a sort of court, are situated the Factor’s dwelling and two
or three other good-sized log buildings. At the west end of the row
stands an Episcopal Mission church and the Mission house, which at the
time of our visit was occupied by Bishop Young, the see of whose diocese
was formerly here, but since removed to Fort Vermilion, some 270 miles
distant on the Peace River. Within easy sight, a short distance farther
west, across a little bay, the Roman Catholic Mission church, and
various buildings connected therewith, are situated. This mission is a
large and flourishing one, and is the see of the Roman Catholic Diocese
of Athabasca. All the buildings of Chippewyan are neatly whitewashed,
so that, particularly from the front, it presents a most striking
appearance. At the back of the Fort, between the rocky hills, plenty of
small timber for house-building and firewood is found, and over at the
Catholic Mission a little farm is cultivated, and many luxuries in the
way of root vegetables obtained from it.
[Illustration: FORT CHIPPEWYAN.]
The staple food, however, for both man and dogs (which latter are
important members of the community) is fish, several varieties of which
are caught in abundance in the lake close at hand. One or two whitefish,
according to size, is the usual daily allowance for a dog.
In the north the dog takes the place which the horse occupies in the
south, and it is a very interesting sight to see the canine population
of the town, perhaps thirty or forty in all, receiving their daily meal.
They are called together by the ringing of a large bell, erected for the
purpose at all Hudson’s Bay Company posts. At the first stroke all dogs
within reach of the sound spring to their feet and scamper off to the
feeding place, where they find a man in charge of their rations. Forming
round in a circle, each dog waits for the portion thrown to him, which
he at once trots away with to enjoy in some quiet retreat. Occasional
snarls and fights take place, but it is astonishing to see how orderly
Chippewyan dogs are able to conduct themselves at a common mess.
The day after our arrival at the Fort being Sunday, we had our last
opportunity for several months of attending Divine service, and were
privileged to listen to an excellent sermon preached by His Lordship
Bishop Young. Some of our men, being Roman Catholics, were able to avail
themselves of the opportunity of attending mass as well, and of receiving
a parting blessing from the priest.
[Illustration: STEAMER “GRAHAME.”]
The next day being the 19th, the date on which Dr. McKay had promised to
rejoin us at the Fort, his return with the _Grahame_ was eagerly looked
for. We had made all the preparations for departure that could be made
until he and our supplies should arrive. During the afternoon a strong
breeze sprang up from the east, raising a heavy sea, and it was not until
sunset that the belated steamer tied up to the wharf. She had had a
rough passage, so rough that the Doctor declared it was the last time he
would ever be a passenger on her in such water, a not unwise resolution,
for the steamer, top-heavy and drawing only about three feet of water,
was not unlikely to roll over in rough weather.
With the return of the Doctor, Captain Mills and the Captain of the
_Grahame_, we now formed a merry party, and spent a pleasant evening
at the Doctor’s house. Captain Mills and I talked over old-time
adventures in Hudson Straits, and recalled many incidents from our mutual
experiences in the north in bygone days. But as the Doctor had determined
to leave again with the steamer on the following day for the Great Slave
Lake river posts, there was no time to be lost in social pleasures.
In compliance with my brother’s request, sent by letter some months
previously, Dr. McKay had engaged the best available Indian guide to
accompany us from this place through Lake Athabasca and as far beyond as
he knew the country. With the success of this arrangement we were greatly
pleased, as it was desirable that as little time as possible should be
lost in seeking trails and river routes. The guide’s name was Moberly—a
Christian name, though borne by a full-blooded Chippewyan Indian, who,
before we were through with him, proved himself to be anything but a
Christian. He was acquainted with our route for about one hundred miles
to the northward from Black Lake, and even in this distance his services,
we thought, would likely save us several days.
The next morning the Fort was a scene of hurry and bustle. Goods were
landed from the steamer, cordwood taken on board, and much other business
attended to. I took charge of our own supplies, and checked each piece
as it was brought ashore. Our chest of tea was the only article that had
suffered from the effects of frequent transhipment. It had been broken
open and a few pounds lost, but the balance—about sixty pounds—had
been gathered up and put in a flour bag. Before noon everything was
safely landed on the shore, and it formed a miscellaneous pile of no
small extent. Following is a list of the articles: “Bacon, axes, flour,
matches, oatmeal, alcohol, tin kettles, evaporated apples, apricots,
salt, sugar, frying-pans, dutch oven, rice, pepper, mustard, files,
jam, tobacco, hard tack, candles, geological hammers, baking powder,
pain killer, knives, forks, canned beef—fresh and corned—tin dishes,
tarpaulins and waterproof sacks.” Besides the above, there were our
tents, bags of dunnage, mathematical instruments, rifles and a box of
ammunition. The total weight of all this outfit amounted at the time to
about four thousand pounds.
A sail-boat which my brother had used in 1892, and which was in good
condition, rode at anchor before the Fort, and for a time it was thought
we would have to make use of this as far as the east end of the lake to
carry all our stuff. Moberly, the guide, particularly urged the necessity
of taking the big boat, for his home was at the east end of the lake, and
he had a lot of stuff for which he wished to arrange a transport, but as
we were not on a freighting tour for Moberly, and as we found by trial
that everything could be carried nicely in the canoes, we decided to take
them only. At this the guide became sulky, and thought he would not go.
His wife and two daughters, who were to accompany him as far as their
home, tried to persuade him, but Indian-like he would not promise to do
one thing or the other. At last we told him to go where he chose, as we
were in no way dependent on him, but knew our own way well enough.
As arranged, the _Grahame_ steamed away during the afternoon, for the
Great Slave River, with Dr. McKay, Captain Mills and Bishop Young on
board, but our own start was deferred until the next morning, and in the
meantime home letters were written, for a packet was to go south from
here about the 16th of July.
On the morning of the 21st of June, the whole outfit being snugly
stowed in the three canoes, our party set out on the eastward course.
Old Moberly, the guide, was also on hand with his family and big bark
canoe. The morning was beautifully fair and calm; all nature seemed to
be smiling. But soon the smile became a frown. The east wind, as if
aroused by our paddles, began to stir himself, and before long made
things unpleasant enough, coming not alone but with clouds of mist and
rain. Though we could make but slow progress, we persisted in travelling
until 9.30 p.m., when, having made about twenty-four knots, we pitched
camp in a little sandy bay, worthy to be remembered because of the swarms
of mosquitos which greeted us on landing. We had been reminded of the
existence of these creatures at Chippewyan and at former camps, but here
it was a question of the survival of the fittest. Mosquito nets, already
fixed to our hats, had to be drawn down and tightly closed, and mosquito
oil or grease smeared over the hands.
[Illustration: LANDING ON NORTH SHORE, LAKE ATHABASCA.]
The whole north shore of the lake, being bold and rocky, and consisting
chiefly of Laurentian gneiss, is of little geological interest except
at a few points, which will be spoken of as they are reached. The south
shore, which was examined by my brother in 1892, was found to be of
entirely different character, low and flat, and its rocks cretaceous
sandstones. The chief varieties of timber observed as we passed along
were spruce, white poplar and birch, and with these, though of small
size, the country was fairly well covered.
Our second day on the lake was even less successful than the first, for
though we made a start in the morning, we were soon obliged to put to
shore by reason of the roughness of the water and a strong head-wind. At
noon we succeeded in getting our latitude, which was 59° 6′ 32″ N.
About six o’clock that evening, shortly after our second launch, we met
a party of Indians in their bark canoes, sailing with hoisted blankets
before the wind. There were quite a number of them, and as they bore down
towards us they presented a picturesque and animated scene. Moberly was
some distance in the rear, but François was on hand to interpret, and as
we met a halt was made. The first and most natural question asked by the
Indians was, “Where are you going?” “To h—,” was François’ prompt but
rather startling reply. In order that we might have an opportunity of
securing information about the country (not that to which François had
alluded, however), it was decided that we should all go ashore and have
some tea; so our course was shaped for the nearest beach, a mile or so
away. Upon landing we found that some of these Indians were men of whom
Dr. McKay had spoken as being shrewd, intelligent fellows. From one old
hunter in particular, named Sharlo, we obtained interesting sketch-maps
of canoe routes leading northward from Lake Athabasca. Of course tea
and tobacco had been served out before such information was sought, for
no man of any experience would think of approaching an Indian for the
purpose of obtaining a favor without first having conferred one. Our
object accomplished, canoes were again launched, and the struggle with
the east wind was renewed. Though we travelled until 10.30 at night we
made only 16.4 knots during the day, as indicated by the boat’s log; and
then in the mouth of the Fishing River we found a sheltered nook in the
thick woods for a camping-ground.
The next day, the high wind continuing and rain falling freely, the
lake was too rough for us to venture out. A collection of all the many
varieties of plants occurring in the vicinity was carefully made. Nets
were set out, and some fine fish taken; trolls were also used with fair
success, and with my revolver, much to the amusement of the party, I shot
and killed some distance under water a fine large pike. A few geese were
seen also, but none could be secured.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL NORTHLAND FATHER.]
On the following morning, though it was still raining, the wind had
fallen, and we were able to go ahead. Because of the wet we had great
difficulty in using our surveying instruments and in making notes. During
the forenoon while ashore at Cypress Point, a long sand-beach timbered
with jack-pine woods, and extending a mile or more out into the lake, we
observed a sail not far ahead. A sail-boat in these waters was an unusual
sight, but on this occasion we were able to guess its meaning. It was
Mr. Reed with his party returning from Fort Fond du Lac (now a small
winter post only) to Chippewyan with the last winter’s trade. We had been
told we would likely meet him on the lake, and here he came before the
breeze in his big York boat. As he approached and sighted us he made in
to where we were, and ran his boat on the sand beach. Besides Mr. Reed,
the young trader, there were with him two French priests returning from
their season’s labor among the Indians. One of them, now an old man, had
spent the greater part of his life in mission work in this district, and
was about laying down his commission, to be succeeded by his younger
companion. As it was nearly noon, our men were instructed, though it
was raining heavily, to kindle a fire and prepare lunch for the party.
Beneath some thick fir-trees a shelter was found, and the tea being made
and lunch laid out on the ground, we all seated ourselves about, and
spent a delightful half-hour together. But to us every hour was precious,
and without further delay we wished each other God-speed, and continued
our courses. By nightfall the log-reading showed our day’s travel to be
thirty-two knots, equivalent to about thirty-seven miles. So far we had
been fortunate in finding comfortable camping grounds. With a guide who
knew the shore we should be expected to do so, but with a guide such as
ours, who was commonly several miles behind, his connection with the
party made little difference, excepting in the consumption of “grub.”
Three more days passed, and despite the unfavorable weather, seventy
miles of shore-line were surveyed. Then a discovery of some interest was
made. Just east of the Beaver Hills we found a veritable mountain of iron
ore, and that of the most valuable kind, hæmatite. Coal to smelt it is
not found in the vicinity, though there is plenty of wood in the forest.
The shore of this part of the lake was very much obscured by islands,
upon the slopes of which the remains of the last winter’s snow banks
could still be seen.
We made an early start on the morning of the 18th, breaking camp at five
o’clock, but before we had made any distance a fog settled over the
lake so dense that we could not see ten yards from the canoes. For some
time we groped along in the darkness, every little while finding our
way obstructed by the rocky wall of some island or point of land, and
finally, meeting with a seemingly endless shore, we were obliged to wait
for the weather to clear. All hands landed and climbed the precipitous
bank, with a view to discovering something about the locality, but all
was obscurity. Toward noon the fog lifted, and we were able to make out
our position, which was on the mainland and north of Old Man Island.
On this point we observed a solitary grave, and near by the remains
of an old log house. As to who had been the occupant of this solitary
hut, or whose remains rested in the lonely grave, we knew not, but
their appearance on this uninhabited shore made a realistic picture of
desolation and sadness.
On the morning of the 29th of June, high west winds and heavy rain were
again the order of the day, but venturing out, we made a fast run before
the wind and reached the Fort in a heavy sea. Fond-du-Lac is a fort
only in name, and consists in all of two or three small log shanties
and a little log mission church, situated on a bare, exposed sandy
shore, without any shelter from the fierce winter storms which hold high
carnival in this country six or seven months of the year. Having already
met the white residents of Fond-du-Lac on the lake, most of their houses,
few though they were, were locked up or deserted. Two or three Indians
and their families were living at the place, and with one of them letters
were left with a hope that they might be taken safely to Chippewyan, and
thence forwarded by the Hudson’s Bay Company’s autumn packet to Edmonton.
This was undoubtedly the last chance, though only a chance, of sending
any news to our friends until we should return to civilization.
From Fond-du-Lac eastward the lake is quite narrow, having much the
appearance of a broad river. It is only five miles in width, but extends
a distance of fifty miles. On the south shore could be seen a large
group of Indian lodges, and at this camp was the home of our guide. It
was here that his family were to be left, so we all went across to the
Indians’ encampment. Moberly now appeared to be very indifferent as to
whether or not he should go any farther with us. Indeed he seemed more
inclined to remain with his friends, for to accompany us meant more
exertion for him than he was fond of. Various reasons were given why
he must remain at this place; but after much parleying, and the offer
of liberal inducements, he promised to secure a companion canoeman, and
follow our track in the morning. With this understanding we parted, and
proceeded along the south shore until evening, when, finding an inviting
camping-ground in the open jack-pine wood, we went ashore, while the
cooks soon prepared supper, with us the principal meal of the day.
So far our fare had been exceedingly good, for it had been the policy to
dispose of luxuries as soon as possible, in order to reduce the weight
of the loads on the portages. Our limited stock of canned fruits was,
therefore, used with a free hand at first.
June closed with a bright, clear and unusually calm day, which was also
marked by the absence of mosquitos and black flies. Under these unusual
circumstances, at noon-hour, an event transpired which was seldom
repeated during the remaining part of our journey, viz., the taking of a
bath.
Just as lunch was ready we were again joined by Moberly and his
companion, an old Indian named Bovia. We were glad, if not a little
surprised, to see them, for we had a suspicion that the guide had no
serious intention of keeping his promise. During the afternoon, however,
as before, his canoe lagged far behind, not so much because of his
inability to keep up with us, as because of his serene indifference
and laziness. The paddles used by him and his comrade were like spoons
as compared with our broad blades, and the position of old Bovia, as
he pulled with one elbow resting on the gunwale of his canoe, was most
amusing. By this way of travelling it was very evident that the guides
were going to be a drag rather than a help to us, so it was resolved that
before proceeding farther a definite understanding must be arrived at.
Beside the evening camp-fire, accordingly, the matter was broached to
the Indians. They were told plainly that if they were to continue with
us they would be required to go in advance and show us the way as far
as they knew the route, and further, that they would be expected to
assist in portaging our stuff whenever that might become necessary. In
consideration of this, as already agreed upon, they were to receive
their board and eighty skins ($40.00) per month, upon their return to
Chippewyan. This arrangement was accepted as being satisfactory to them,
and it was hoped that it might result satisfactorily to ourselves.
During the morning of the 1st of July, with a little Union Jack flying
at the bow of my canoe, we arrived at the east end of the lake, and
concluded a traverse, since leaving Chippewyan, of 210 miles. Here at the
extremity of the lake we found several Indian families living, not as is
usual, in their “tepees” or skin-covered lodges, but in substantial log
huts. One of these, we learned, was the property of our brave Moberly,
and in front of it he and old Bovia deliberately went ashore, drew up
their canoe, and seated themselves upon the ground beside some friends.
Their action at once struck us as suspicious, but presently they made an
open demand for a division of our bacon, flour, tea and tobacco. Some
pieces of tobacco and a small quantity of tea had already been given,
but any further distribution of the supplies was declined. At this
Moberly became very angry, and said he would go with us no farther, and
not another foot would he go. From the first his quibbling, unreliable
manner, characteristic of the tribe to which he belonged, had been most
unsatisfactory, and now having received board for himself and his family
in journeying homeward, besides a month’s pay in advance, he had resolved
to desert us. There was no use in trying to force him to continue with
us against his inclinations, nor could we gain anything by punishing him
for his deception, though punishment he richly deserved. He was given one
last opportunity of deciding to go with us, but still refusing, we parted
company with him without wasting strong language, which he could not have
understood.
[Illustration: INDIAN LOG HOUSE.]
With our three canoes only we thereupon commenced the ascent of what had
been named the Stone River, the outlet of Black Lake. We had gone only a
short distance when we were met by a canoe and four Indians coming down
with the current. They appeared to be delighted to see us, and turning
back accompanied us to the first rapid, where a short portage had to
be made. The natives willingly assisted us, and for their labor were
liberally rewarded with tea, tobacco and a few lumps of sugar. With this
they volunteered to return on the following day and assist us in crossing
some longer portages, the first of which we would meet before nightfall.
Of this offer we were quite glad, and promised good pay for the work as
inducement for them to keep the engagement, but in the meantime they went
down to the log houses where we had left our guides, and we continued our
course up the river.
[Illustration: CATARACT, STONE RIVER.]
The next day, Sunday, we spent in camp at the foot of a wild and
beautiful cataract. The weather was warm, and the black flies and
mosquitos swarmed in the woods and about camp so thickly that we could
nowhere escape from their ceaseless hum and dreaded bite. In this
neighborhood they did not appear to have the customary respect for the
smudge. Dense smoke was made about camp, but the flies only appeared to
revel in it.
At camp the men were variously employed. A fishing net had been put out
in an eddy at the foot of the rapids the previous night, and when taken
up in the morning some of the finest fish I have ever seen were found
in it. Two salmon trout measured three feet one inch and three feet two
inches in length respectively, and the white fish, of which there were
a large number, ranged in weight from six to ten pounds. I may add,
in deference to a suspicion which statements of this nature sometimes
give rise to, that these facts can be amply verified. Towards evening
we looked for the return of the four natives who had promised us their
assistance, but they came not.
Following this day of rest came one of most laborious, exhausting work.
Our camp was not only at the foot of a beautiful fall, but in consequence
was at the lower end of a rough, rocky portage, found to be three miles
in length, and the canoes were all heavily loaded, containing some four
thousand pounds of cargo to be transported. One of our men, Corrigal, was
unfortunately laid up for the time with an ugly gash in the knee, so we
had only five packers; but being fresh and in high spirits they went at
their work with a rush, notwithstanding a rocky hill of two hundred feet
which had to be climbed, and a deep muskeg which obliged them to wade.
Long before night, however, their spirits had dropped many degrees, and
it became evident that the task was telling heavily on the men. Before
evening their feet were fearfully blistered, and all complained of pains
in one place or another. They had each carried six loads to the upper
end of the portage, which represented a walk of thirty-three miles,
eighteen of which were travelled with one-hundred pound loads upon their
backs, over rocky hills and through swamps knee-deep with mire. This was
disheartening work at the outset, but it was good training for what was
to follow.
[Illustration: A DIFFICULT PORTAGE.]
The next morning the weather was hot and the flies were out in swarms,
as on the day before. The men were all foot-sore and stiff, but without
a grumble resumed their work. They were obliged to make two more trips
before everything was across, and by that time it was nearly noon; still,
without a pause for rest, they loaded the canoes, pushed out into the
lake—a small expansion of the river—and headed for the opposite shore,
where we soon discovered the mouth. When yet far out on the lake we could
see the river’s foaming water, and as we drew nearer could plainly hear
the unmistakable roar of a cataract. Some distance to the right, on a
sand-beach, we went ashore, and found ourselves at the foot of a second
long portage.
Because of the condition of our men, camp was now ordered to be pitched,
so as to give them some chance to recruit. My brother and I walked across
the portage, and found it to be three and one-half miles in length. It
was, however, much less difficult than the former one, being more level
and less rocky. Its upper end terminated on the shore of Black Lake,
where we hoped to find Indians who would help us across. But in this
we were disappointed, and, instead of Indians, found only old forsaken
“tepee” poles and blackened fireplaces. We tried to rest for a while
upon the shore of Black Lake, but the flies swarmed about us with such
frightful fury that we were compelled to beat a retreat, and seek rest
where alone it could be found, beneath our mosquito awnings at camp.
By the way, there is an Indian tradition which says that it was on these
very portages that the Great Spirit first made these black flies, and our
experience, we thought, would tend to bear out that belief.
[Illustration: INDIAN RAFTS LOADED WITH VENISON.]
On the afternoon of the 7th we started out in a north-easterly direction,
following the shore of Black Lake (explored by my brother in 1892) for a
distance of about sixteen miles, until we reached the hunting trail, of
which he had been informed by the Indians, leading away to the northward.
This place until now had been our objective point, and the way to it
was known; but beyond this point we knew nothing of the road, or of the
country through which it would lead us, excepting for the first few days’
travel, to which the Indians’ description, quoted at the beginning of
this narrative, would apply. From this point northward, for a distance of
one hundred miles, or thereabouts, we had expected to be guided by that
old humbug Moberly, but he having deserted us we were now dependent on
our own resources.